the shit i keep busy with.
the shit we do to keep
clean. the mirror blade.
a sacred service. your
cuticles like a display.
the crickets are buzzing
in whatever evening i’ve
built up around myself.
as a defense against you.
i paint parking spots in
my head and i roll the
tip of my tongue.
a common meter times
and wears me like glasses.
the style of my incapacity.
a flag in my fingers and i
don’t want. in the spring
i feel like a sister to the
flowers. i sniff them as i
pass. like only family i
can tell when they are
lying. do you know lies.
i am joking. i tell it like a
joke that i am your
“lover,”
are you angry with me?
for breaking your medicine.
for nothing at all i fill my
lungs to be grateful. a
love like record static or
a gap that can be felt.
the new growth i bud
in the season. in these
sonorous hours. do you
know the tone. i tear
the grass to test the
wind